The Forced Marriage Read Online Free PDF Page A

green eyes as they held hers. Felt the ensuing silence deepen and threaten, as if some time bomb were ticking away. And realised with swift shame that she had totally overstepped the mark.
    Somehow, she faltered into speech. ‘I’m sorry—I didn’t mean…’
    He said grimly, ‘I am not a fool. I know exactly what you meant.’ The long fingers captured her chin and held it, not gently. ‘Two things, mia cara .’ He spoke softly. ‘This is my cousin’s house, and I would not show such disrespect for her roof. More importantly, I have never yet taken a woman against her will—and you will not be the first. Capisce? ’
    Her face burned as, jerkily, she nodded.
    ‘Then be good enough to carry out the commission you’ve been employed for.’ He released her almost contemptuously and moved towards the door. ‘Shall I call Malinda to act as our chaperon?’
    ‘No,’ she said huskily. ‘That—won’t be necessary.’ Her legs were shaking as she ascended another flight of stairs to the second floor, and followed him into Vittoria Fairlie’s bedroom.
    It was a large room, overlooking the garden, with French windows leading on to a balcony with a wrought-iron balustrade and ceramic containers planted brightly with flowers.
    The interior walls were the palest blush pink, with stinging white paintwork as a contrast, and the tailored bedcover was a much deeper rose. Apart from a chaise longue near the window, upholstered in the same fabric as the bedcover, and an elegant walnut dressing table, there was little other furniture—all clothes and clutter having been banished, presumably, to the adjoining dressing room.
    ‘Well?’ Marco Valante had stationed himself at the window, leaning against its frame. So how was it that everywhere she looked he seemed to be in her sightline? she wondered despairingly.
    The image of him seemed scored into her consciousness—the casual untidiness of his raven hair, the faint line of stubble along his jaw, the close-fitting dark pants that accentuated his lean hips and long legs, the collarless white shirt left unbuttoned at the throat, exposing a deep triangle of smooth, tanned skin…
    For a stunned moment she found herself wondering what that skin would feel like under her fingertips—her mouth…
    Her mind closed in shock, and she hurried into speech. ‘The room is truly lovely. I can’t fault your cousin’s taste—or her presentation.’ She hesitated. ‘Although I wonder if it isn’t a touch—over-feminine?’
    ‘That is entirely the view of her husband,’ Marco acknowledged, his mouth twisting. ‘He has stipulated for the new house—no more pink.’
    ‘But it’s difficult to know what to suggest without seeing the room in Brussels.’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘It may face in a different direction…’
    ‘No. Vittoria says it is also south-facing, and very light.’
    ‘In that case…’ Flora gave her surroundings another considering look. ‘There’s a wonderful shade of pale blue-green, called Seascape, that comes in a watered silk paper. I’ve always felt that waking in sunlight with that on the walls would be like finding yourself floating in the Mediterranean. But your cousin may not want that.’
    ‘On the contrary, I think it would revive for her some happy memories,’ Marco returned. ‘When we were children we used to stay at my grandfather’s house in summer. He had this old castello on a cliff above the sea, and we would walk down to the cove each day between the cypress trees.’
    ‘It sounds—idyllic.’
    ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘A more innocent world.’ He paused. ‘Have you ever visited my country?’
    ‘Not yet.’ Flora lifted her chin. ‘But I’m hoping to go there on my honeymoon, if I can persuade my fiancé.’
    ‘He doesn’t like Italy?’ The green eyes were meditative as they rested on her.
    ‘I don’t think he’s ever been either. But he was in the Bahamas earlier this year, and that’s where he wants to return.’